2011: The Worst Year (Part 1)
It has occurred to me that I have probably been rather distant and irritable lately, even moreso than usual. I understand that I am probably not a very open person in general, and I don't usually discuss my problems. But. As a person who is in some way involved in my life, you deserve to understand why I have been so miserable lately. You see, about a year ago, I was on the top of the world. I was thrilled with mostly everything in my life and excited to be living. I was, in my eternal pessimism, somewhat worried that things would just keep getting better and better. How will 2011 ever top 2010, I asked myself?
Well, fortunately, it doesn't seem at all intent to. Since about mid-March, this year has been a constant downhill slide of terrible. In this entry, I hope to elaborate on the larger reasons for the anxiety, stress, depression, and existential horror that has generally characterized my life recently.
The first part of this year generally consisted of two things: working on my class preparation and writing LARPs for Festival. The former was a source of constant stress and self-doubt. My students and the program as a whole were dealing with incredible trauma, tragedy, and loss, in the Brandeis community and the world at large. As the semester wore on, I also became plagued with various troubles (to be elaborated later in this entry). Coupled with the constant anxiety of the first-time teacher, this meant that I was not able to be as devoted to my class as I wanted, nor were my students. In retrospect, it was probably a normal (if tough) semester. There were successes and failures. At the time, though, it often felt like one massive failure after another, all of them my fault for being an imperfect teacher. One way or another, we survived, and have something impressive to show for it.
The same can be said of my writing teams for Festival of the LARPs. We worked persistently and pushed past wall after wall of fatigue and frustration to produce two solid games. I had never written any LARPs before, and felt incredibly accomplished once all was said and done. That being said, the work took its toll on my sleep schedule and general engagement with other important aspects of my life. In the midst of it all, I was stricken with probably the most serious and frightening health problem I've ever experienced.
Approximately two weeks before Festival, I had my first (and currently only) episode of Atrial Fibrillation. I won't bore you with the medical details; you can look them up. Long story short, my heart began to beat irregularly. My normal reaction to any problems with my heart or veins, or sometimes even the thought of blood, is to pass out, and that's what I did, in the bathroom, while washing my hands. I probably hit my jaw on the sink and my elbow on the ground: at least, the injuries I later discovered suggested I did. In any case, I woke up pretty quickly with an awareness that something was wrong with my heart. I crawled back to my living room and tried to feel my heartbeat. I couldn't feel it. Ironically, it was pumping much faster than normal, but for some reason I couldn't feel it at all at the time. I remember one thought: "My heart isn't beating. Why aren't I dead yet? I'm going to die now."
Needless to say, I survived and it wasn't nearly as serious as all that. But it was terrifying. The one witness to the event can attest to the fact that I was a sobbing, shivering wreck as he called the ambulance and I waited patiently for their arrival. I clutched photographs of loved ones I thought I'd never see again. I spent the next few days in the hospital, crying about things like "increased risk of stroke" and "check your lungs for blood clots," meanwhile missing my class and falling behind in my writing. It sucked, and now I have to live with the possibility of another episode every day. I have no idea what triggered it: stress? sleep deprivation? alcohol? caffeine? I am on heart-slowing and blood-thinning medications now, but I have heard everything from "I had that, I had a few episodes spread over about ten years and then it went away" to "that's the sort of thing that means you'll need a pacemaker someday." And yeah, I'm worried about having a stroke. I'm worried about having a pulmonary embolism. I'm worried about having a heart attack. I'm worried about dying. I'm counting the things I love to do and wondering how many times I'll be able to do them again, even if I do live a long, satisfying life.
Somehow, I managed to plow through that obstacle and survive until Festival weekend. But I was exhausted and crushed and miserable, and I just wanted it to be over the whole time. Even at the best of times, I was worried that the stimulation of LARPing was going to trigger another A-Fib. But I made it through the weekend, only to be hit by another near-mortal blow. This may come as something of a surprise to some of you, as I haven't discussed it with many people. I told everyone, before Festival, that I would probably be experiencing a "con-crash" of epic proportions, due to the strain of writing two new games and running them in the same weekend. That fact probably safely disguised my epic-level depression in the weeks after Festival, but in reality my emotional state had almost nothing to do with LARPs.
On Sunday night of Festival, at 11:54 PM, I was let go from a long-term childcare job I had had for almost a year and a half. My relationship with this girl's mother was very strained, and we had polar-opposite views on many aspects of education and child-rearing. Unfortunately, my job over time morphed from "babysitter" to "tutor" without my having any real say in the matter, and my employer's views on academic discipline were basically characteristic of everything I wish to eradicate from the American education system. Because I truly loved the child with whom I was working, I made many compromises with her mother in order to keep my job and maintain my position as a source of encouragement, praise, and support. Ultimately, the mother deemed our conflict irresolvable, stating that I "wasn't meeting her expectations," and fired me. The course of my professional and personal relationship with the family was multiply traumatic and often painful for everyone involved, and I bore witness to multiple instances of emotional abuse, even enduring it myself. Being "released" as it were from this situation felt at once liberating and thoroughly crushing. While no longer subject to the battles for control that took place constantly among myself, the mother, and the child, I was also no longer allowed the unrivaled joy of being a part of this girl's life. Anyone who has heard me talk about her knows that I loved her like a sister, and this loss is the deepest I have felt in many years. Worse still is the sorrow I feel when I think of all she will have to endure as she grows up in that home.
[Here I must end the entry, because it is getting late and I want to sleep. Stay tuned for Part 2: Isn't everything looking up for our hero? He has endured great tragedy, but now he is moving and he got into grad school! Aren't those unconditionally good things? No, of course not. It's 2011.]
Well, fortunately, it doesn't seem at all intent to. Since about mid-March, this year has been a constant downhill slide of terrible. In this entry, I hope to elaborate on the larger reasons for the anxiety, stress, depression, and existential horror that has generally characterized my life recently.
The first part of this year generally consisted of two things: working on my class preparation and writing LARPs for Festival. The former was a source of constant stress and self-doubt. My students and the program as a whole were dealing with incredible trauma, tragedy, and loss, in the Brandeis community and the world at large. As the semester wore on, I also became plagued with various troubles (to be elaborated later in this entry). Coupled with the constant anxiety of the first-time teacher, this meant that I was not able to be as devoted to my class as I wanted, nor were my students. In retrospect, it was probably a normal (if tough) semester. There were successes and failures. At the time, though, it often felt like one massive failure after another, all of them my fault for being an imperfect teacher. One way or another, we survived, and have something impressive to show for it.
The same can be said of my writing teams for Festival of the LARPs. We worked persistently and pushed past wall after wall of fatigue and frustration to produce two solid games. I had never written any LARPs before, and felt incredibly accomplished once all was said and done. That being said, the work took its toll on my sleep schedule and general engagement with other important aspects of my life. In the midst of it all, I was stricken with probably the most serious and frightening health problem I've ever experienced.
Approximately two weeks before Festival, I had my first (and currently only) episode of Atrial Fibrillation. I won't bore you with the medical details; you can look them up. Long story short, my heart began to beat irregularly. My normal reaction to any problems with my heart or veins, or sometimes even the thought of blood, is to pass out, and that's what I did, in the bathroom, while washing my hands. I probably hit my jaw on the sink and my elbow on the ground: at least, the injuries I later discovered suggested I did. In any case, I woke up pretty quickly with an awareness that something was wrong with my heart. I crawled back to my living room and tried to feel my heartbeat. I couldn't feel it. Ironically, it was pumping much faster than normal, but for some reason I couldn't feel it at all at the time. I remember one thought: "My heart isn't beating. Why aren't I dead yet? I'm going to die now."
Needless to say, I survived and it wasn't nearly as serious as all that. But it was terrifying. The one witness to the event can attest to the fact that I was a sobbing, shivering wreck as he called the ambulance and I waited patiently for their arrival. I clutched photographs of loved ones I thought I'd never see again. I spent the next few days in the hospital, crying about things like "increased risk of stroke" and "check your lungs for blood clots," meanwhile missing my class and falling behind in my writing. It sucked, and now I have to live with the possibility of another episode every day. I have no idea what triggered it: stress? sleep deprivation? alcohol? caffeine? I am on heart-slowing and blood-thinning medications now, but I have heard everything from "I had that, I had a few episodes spread over about ten years and then it went away" to "that's the sort of thing that means you'll need a pacemaker someday." And yeah, I'm worried about having a stroke. I'm worried about having a pulmonary embolism. I'm worried about having a heart attack. I'm worried about dying. I'm counting the things I love to do and wondering how many times I'll be able to do them again, even if I do live a long, satisfying life.
Somehow, I managed to plow through that obstacle and survive until Festival weekend. But I was exhausted and crushed and miserable, and I just wanted it to be over the whole time. Even at the best of times, I was worried that the stimulation of LARPing was going to trigger another A-Fib. But I made it through the weekend, only to be hit by another near-mortal blow. This may come as something of a surprise to some of you, as I haven't discussed it with many people. I told everyone, before Festival, that I would probably be experiencing a "con-crash" of epic proportions, due to the strain of writing two new games and running them in the same weekend. That fact probably safely disguised my epic-level depression in the weeks after Festival, but in reality my emotional state had almost nothing to do with LARPs.
On Sunday night of Festival, at 11:54 PM, I was let go from a long-term childcare job I had had for almost a year and a half. My relationship with this girl's mother was very strained, and we had polar-opposite views on many aspects of education and child-rearing. Unfortunately, my job over time morphed from "babysitter" to "tutor" without my having any real say in the matter, and my employer's views on academic discipline were basically characteristic of everything I wish to eradicate from the American education system. Because I truly loved the child with whom I was working, I made many compromises with her mother in order to keep my job and maintain my position as a source of encouragement, praise, and support. Ultimately, the mother deemed our conflict irresolvable, stating that I "wasn't meeting her expectations," and fired me. The course of my professional and personal relationship with the family was multiply traumatic and often painful for everyone involved, and I bore witness to multiple instances of emotional abuse, even enduring it myself. Being "released" as it were from this situation felt at once liberating and thoroughly crushing. While no longer subject to the battles for control that took place constantly among myself, the mother, and the child, I was also no longer allowed the unrivaled joy of being a part of this girl's life. Anyone who has heard me talk about her knows that I loved her like a sister, and this loss is the deepest I have felt in many years. Worse still is the sorrow I feel when I think of all she will have to endure as she grows up in that home.
[Here I must end the entry, because it is getting late and I want to sleep. Stay tuned for Part 2: Isn't everything looking up for our hero? He has endured great tragedy, but now he is moving and he got into grad school! Aren't those unconditionally good things? No, of course not. It's 2011.]